Part 8

It is amongst such scenes as these that the Army Service Corps motor-lorries roll up as usual with their loads of rations for the personnel and horses of the guns. A little way behind a battery, it will be noted, is a bivouac. It is the improvised mess of the Gunner officers, and here you may meet these priceless desperadoes discussing "direct hits" that have been recorded to their guns by the observation officer ahead, narrow escapes and recent adventures amongst "Grannies," "Crumps," "Whiz-bangs" and "Heavies," whilst they consume delicacies from Fortnum and Mason with the utmost sang-froid and complacency, merely remarking that they hope the Huns won't _strafe_ them to-night! They are totally unconcerned with the dangers that are constantly lurking around; thus does familiarity breed contempt of even Death itself.

Now and again one notices roadside groups of the graves of German soldiers, all of uniform size and design. They almost invariably consist of a wooden cross about 3 feet high, surmounted by a little oval-shaped roof or shelter, to protect them from the weather--to such lengths in thoroughness do the Huns go and so far do they see ahead! Painted a grass-green colour, they are strangely out of keeping with the present hue of the soil and of vegetable life, so conspicuous by its absence. On each is painted in white characters the name and regiment of the man whose memory it perpetuates. This follows some such inscription as "Hier ruht in Gott" or "Unserem gutem Kameraden dem," etc. Not far from them are groups of British graves. The inscriptions on two plain wooden crosses that I noticed have particularly lingered in my mind: "Here lies a British soldier. Name unknown. Devon Regiment. He died fighting." The second, the epitaph of a horse: "To the memory of my dumb pal, Queenie. Killed in action, July 6th, 1916," gives an insight to the character of the British soldier and his love for the animals that work with him.

In the sky is an irregular line of watchful captive observation balloons for observing officers. In the language of the front they are known as "sausages," from their similarity in shape to that domestic commodity. Away in the distance is another line of stationary balloons of almost similar shape, for the Huns, also, are not unobservant. The barbed-wire cage, a temporary home for recently made prisoners, is always an object of interest; and everywhere one notices salvage parties clearing up and collecting together the quantities of waste metal, spent ammunition, accoutrements, etc., which litter the ground. Piled up at various points are stacks of empty shell cases, which by their size indicate the enormous quantity of ammunition that is being used by our guns in their work of pulverizing the German trenches and fortifications. Every one is busy--the newly won ground is being cleared, positions are being consolidated, roads are being made up, telegraph poles and wires erected, standard-gauge railway lines are being laid down. Whether at the Base or the trenches, war is carried on methodically and with the regular routine of a factory. It would appear to have become an institution. The whole war zone is linked up with a telephone system which compares favourably with that of London.

Along the road one may encounter parties of prisoners being marched back from the line, and occasionally little groups of wounded being helped towards the ambulances. So much for the ground taken from the Huns in the Great Push of August 1916.

To turn for a moment to another part of the line. From the gaunt and shell-shattered tower, which stands a landmark for miles around, on the summit of Mont St. Eloi I have looked across "the Labyrinth," as it is called, and watched the shells from our batteries beneath explode in the German trenches, or amongst their wire between our trenches and theirs, known as "No Man's Land." It is an amazing and uncanny sight. Not a single sign of life, not a single human being, is to be seen; only the results of human and mechanical activity are visible. The guns below loose off with terrific noise, then in the distance there is a dull and heavy thud, as a huge solid-looking mass of black smoke suddenly rises up in a cloud from the ground and remains a few moments before gradually dispersing. To the right can be discerned the battered towers of Arras, and between this point and the trenches is the little village of Maroeuil, which nestles hidden away in a hollow and has been scarcely affected by enemy fire. There, crimson ramblers still blossom and roses flourish in the gardens, now almost choked with weeds, of its deserted cottages.

Sights like the view from the top of Mont St. Eloi bring home to one the fact that modern methods of warfare are accompanied by few scenic effects or dramatic spectacles. War, like its results, is invariably ugly. Engineers and chemists have made it so by their ghastly appliances and materials, which have put the open fighting of former days on horseback out of the question. Cavalry charges, as portrayed by Lady Butler, are indeed a thing of the past. A few machine guns, suitably concealed, could hold up squadrons of advancing cavalry. The only human element left is the infantry charge, with fixed bayonets. To be killed by the explosion of a shell or asphyxiated by gas, miles behind the line, cannot be described as a heroic death--it is not even fair on the individual who so meets his end. He is not in a position to combat his invisible enemy; sometimes he has not even a sporting chance of escape from an attack which he is powerless to combat or avert. Is it, then, to be wondered at that men living under such conditions, namely, in places which are periodically or continuously strafed, become fatalists? They cease to worry, take everything that comes as a matter of course, never knowing when their turn may come.

Not infrequently we have taken convoys by night to within a matter of a few hundred yards of the line. The absence of lamps and travelling along bad and often narrow roads make slow speed imperative and the utmost care in driving essential. The only light available is provided by the moon and the many star-shells over the trenches, which seem to light up the whole horizon, and remind one of so many shooting stars, or a pyrotechnic display at the Crystal Palace seen from a distance.

Convoying along roads which are in view and under observation of the enemy, even by night, is as exciting as it is a fascinating game, for even if the convoy is, by the absence of headlights, to all intents and purposes made invisible, the enemy is able to assume from their geographical positions what roads are of strategical importance and being made use of for transport purposes to the trenches. He may at any time train a gun on those particular roads, on the off-chance of bagging a convoy, or at any rate of making the road in question so dangerous as to necessitate it being put out of bounds for transport, thus making the approaches to the line more difficult and fewer in number.

Was it not Field-Marshal Sir John French who, some years ago, while speaking of "Night Operations," remarked that "the darker the night, the more inclement the weather, the better the exercise"? "Strong words of comfort these," says _The Young Officer's Guide to Knowledge_.

_*Chapter XIII*_

_*FROM ARRAS TO ALBERT*_

In the preceding chapters I have endeavoured to narrate a selection from many and various episodes, disconnected, perhaps, due to the omission of details of long periods of enforced inactivity or hum-drum daily routine, during times spent miles behind the line, rationing the cavalry in such places as the neighbourhood between Abbeville and Le Treport on the seacoast. In this area our second Christmas was spent, and the cavalry were billeted in winter quarters far from the scenes of action, waiting, always waiting, for their chance. Then we moved up again and settled down to our usual duties, seizing the opportunity of putting our house in order, and for the time being carrying out the work with the use of one echelon of motor-lorries only. The other echelon was refitted, thoroughly overhauled in the workshops, and all the lorries were given a coat of fresh paint, so that by the beginning of April they looked brand spanking new, in keeping with their springtime surroundings. During the spring and early summer nothing of importance occurred. The cavalry were continually being shifted from one billeting area to another, but always within the same neighbourhood, not so much for strategical reasons as for the purpose of making room for new Divisions of infantry from home and on their way up to the line. Cavalry, it will be readily understood, has, under existing circumstances, had to take quite a back seat on the Western front. As usual, the R.H.A. batteries attached to the Division were almost continually in action, and the cavalry regiments supplied a constant stream of "digging parties," not only for reserve trench digging, but chiefly for assisting in mining operations from the front line trenches, such operations not being carried out without casualties.

The job of rationing the personnel so engaged and of moving them from their billets to the trenches and back, or from one part of the line to another, as occasion required, devolved, of course, on the motor lorries and entailed a fair amount of work, including a good number of all-night jobs on dangerous roads. During this time the Column was parked near Arras, on the main roads leading thither. Dusty is not the word for one of these on an August day, but it is straight, broad, and of good surface, wide enough in many parts for three lines of traffic.

So time went on, and during July and August 1916 we surveyed "the big push" from a little village not far from Arras, marking in daily on the large-scale map which hung on the wall, with red pencil, the villages captured from day to day, and the advance of the British and French line on the Somme. The nearer one is to the front, the less one knows of the news. The men in the front line trenches know nothing, except what has happened in their immediate vicinity, and even then they are not able to form an opinion of its relative importance, in comparison with what has happened elsewhere, of which they know nothing. Further back there are two sources of information: one is "rumours," on which some people thrive. There are fresh rumours every day, and they invariably contradict one another. The other never-failing source of news is the Paris Continental edition of the _Daily Mail_, which reaches the uttermost parts of the front by teatime daily and is well worth the 15 centimes usually exacted for it, and universally looked forward to daily.

All day long and often all through the night there was a hum of aeroplanes in the sky; fleets of them seemed to be always rising from the flying-ground, a neighbouring village, departing on bombing raids and reconnaissance flights. The Germans knew of this flying-ground, and occasionally one or two stray Taubes managed to reach Savy at a very great altitude and drop a few bombs, which usually landed in the cornfields--the invaders being invariably driven off by British machines and anti-aircraft guns. Doubtless they returned home to report the complete and utter destruction of the aerodrome! Nevertheless, the few and far between visits of the Hun planes caused a certain amount of interest and excitement during the course of an otherwise dull existence.

Wondering always how soon or if ever our Division would be called on to play a part in the advance, we received quite a shock when one day, towards the end of August, the entire ---- Indian Cavalry Division was sent back to ----, only however, for a matter of a week. Here the Division put in some manoeuvres and field-days, and immediately after things began to get a move on at last. A little town, near which the week was passed, nestles comfortably in a hollow at the foot of steep hills, and possesses a large and beautiful cathedral, of Gothic architecture, with a very decorative west portal. Its interior is bold, and, unlike that of many such churches, has not been spoilt by the addition of tawdry decoration and gilt paint. From the top of its square tower can be seen a magnificent panorama of the surrounding country. Incidentally, it contains a life-sized beautifully carved wooden crucifix, in which the detail is marvellous. It is said to be the most perfect example of its kind in the world. The story goes that an American offered to pave the church with gold if he were allowed to take it away. I do not know how true the story is, but, needless to say, his offer was not accepted.

The initial move towards the line ---- for the Column was to ----, the first railhead from which the troops were rationed on the line of march. Being quite near Doullens, the country was very familiar to us. From there we moved to the environs of Amiens, a new railway recently laid by Royal Engineers being made use of for the supply train, whilst ---- was railhead. Around here the country is flat and covered with cornfields; by this time the harvest was just gathered in, and on these fields the whole Division, including, of course, the Supply Column, bivouacked for the night. What a wonderful sight was the arrival of the cavalry that evening, miles of mounted men marching from all directions to the huge camp. Every one was optimistic; the air was full of rumours. At last, after all the weary months of waiting, the hour was soon to strike. Cavalry was at length to have a "show." French, British, and Indian Cavalry Divisions were "going through." On the 14th we packed up and were on the move again and bivouacked for the night on the roadside just short of ----, which was our railhead the following day. A sudden move is no light matter! More fortunate than other branches of the Service in the matter of carrying capacity, A.S.C. motor-lorries, when loaded up to their utmost capacity with rations and forage, do not offer as much accommodation for the carrying of kits and mess gear, though, as might at first sight appear. With matters properly organized, and after a little practice, it is quite possible to arrive at the resting-place for the night, and within an hour of doing so the men's cookhouse is set up and dishing out hot tea and rations--bivouacs and tents are in course of erection, the officers' mess tent is pitched, and dinner is being served. All is accomplished in an incredibly short space of time, even in pouring rain.

However, during these moves we were particularly lucky in this respect, for not only was there no rain, but we were favoured with a very bright full moon.

During the night of the 14th and the following day, cavalry was to be seen on the line of march across the country--massed cavalry marching towards a point of concentration. Towards evening we got orders to pack up at once, and later that night we arrived at Albert, pitching our tent by the side of the main Amiens-Albert road. All night long our guns just ahead were bombarding, whilst enemy artillery was by no means inactive. We could see their shells bursting over Albert and the other side of it, like huge balls of fire in the sky. In front and on each side Verrey lights, which linger about thirty seconds in the air before falling, lit up the whole horizon. There was, in fact, a "proper _strafe_" on that night.

The following day, the 16th, in company with some ten other Divisions, we refilled the lorries from the supply train, which, however, did not arrive till the early hours of the following morning. I was continually reminded of my first visit to Albert, over a year before, and which I have referred to in a previous chapter. Then it was deserted, except by a very few French civilians, who, in spite of periodic shelling, still remained. They were still there in September 1916, and mostly made a living by selling such provisions to the troops as they were able to obtain--and goodness knows how the supplies ever reached them. Scarcely any troops were to be seen there at the time of my first visit. Now, more than a year later, it was a hive of activity, and the town was literally packed with troops and motor-lorries, a constant stream of traffic passing through its streets and along the main roads leading into it--loaded supply and ammunition lorries and wagons going up, ambulances full of wounded and empty lorries coming back. Cavalry horse lines and troops bivouacked in almost every field on its outskirts. A far greater number of vehicles passed any given point in an hour than would travel along Piccadilly during the same time at the height of the season. Motor-ambulances, the most frequent users of the roads, passed to and fro constantly in streams--towards the line, very fast; on their way back, very slowly, laden with wounded, British soldiers and German wounded prisoners alike receiving the same care and attention, each man with a label or ticket pinned on to his coat, giving particulars of his wounds and recent medical history. The more severe, lying-down cases were in ambulance cars; the slightly wounded in motor-char-a-bancs or empty lorries, all the latter with a Blighty smile, as it is called, if they were fortunate enough to have got off with a slight wound which would send them home. It is really marvellous how the wounded are bandaged up at the first-aid posts and field dressing stations. I have stood at a first-aid post and watched the R.A.M.C. officers at work. The post is usually just behind the trenches and indicated by a Red Cross flag, visible from a good distance. The wounded make for this flag, and one sees them, some walking, others crawling, coming from all directions towards it. It is a pathetic sight; even sadder is it to see those who do not survive, but eventually succumb to their wounds, perhaps on their way to the field dressing station.

Close to our camp a battery of big howitzers was loosing off in the direction of Thiepval at the rate of about two shells per minute. It was only one of many within a radius of a few miles, and all were equally active. Later in the day the Column was moved off the main road and parked in a narrow street. I have previously described the hanging statue that surmounts the church tower. It was still in the same position as it was a year previously, and to the minds of many the most striking and wonderful sight of the war.

On the afternoon of the 16th I went out with the convoy and delivered the supplies, as usual, to the cavalry, who were still bivouacking in fields around Albert. Returning to Albert, we stopped for two or three minutes on the road to pick up a few men on the empty lorries. They were carrying their rifles and packs, and being bound for the same place as the convoy, naturally got a lift. As matters turned out, it was rather fortunate that the convoy did halt these few minutes; the slight delay probably saved us. We proceeded on our journey, and when about a kilometre short of Albert there was a terrific crash, and the town was momentarily hidden from view by a huge black cloud of smoke and dust. The Huns had put a "crump" right in the middle of the town. We pulled up, and as we did so, crash went another as it burst on an already demolished house by the roadside just ahead of us. The air was thick with smoke and dust. A good many troops that were on the road at the time dived headlong into the nearest dug-outs. Several more shells whistled over and exploded. Fortunately, there was a small turning at right angles to the road, almost exactly where we had stopped. Up it we were able to run the lorries one by one, and thus turn them round in the opposite direction. We then proceeded home by making a detour into Albert, leaving the road that was being shelled to its fate. Reaching our camp, we found that some twenty or more shells had dropped all around it, and more on other parts of the ruined town. Several landed within a few yards of the lorry lines, one beside the men's cookhouse. Fortunately, there were no casualties amongst our men or lorries. One unfortunately exploded in a bit of ground where vegetables were growing, and thus deprived us of cabbages: not one was to be seen the following morning. The shelling lasted from 7 to 8.30, and at that hour the episode ended. The Huns, by way of letting us know that they were still there, had a little evening "hate" regularly at this hour every day. We were indeed lucky to get the convoy turned round and safely away, for almost on the very spot where we had pulled up when the shelling started, some limbers were knocked out a few minutes after we had got away, three men and several horses being killed. After all, the Hun gunners could scarcely be blamed for sending over a few "five point nines"; doubtless they were quite friendly towards us personally, but the column of lorries was parked midway between a large ammunition dump and a battery of our own guns. No doubt it was these latter that they were searching for. During the whole of that night the British gunners returned the compliment, and all the batteries in the sector seemed to loose off continually. Sleep for us was almost out of the question, as the shells whistled over our bivouacs. "Whistle" is the word, I believe, usually employed in describing the sensation; as a matter of fact, the noise of a shell passing overhead is more comparable with the screech of an express train passing through a railway station.

Sunday, 17th, was a gloriously fine and sunny day, and during the morning a Taube circled around very high, but was quickly chased away by our 'planes. It was very seldom that an enemy 'plane was able to remain for long over our lines or behind them. The number that our airmen brought down, and the hot reception which invariably awaited the invader, were the simple reasons. Fifteen hostile machines were destroyed on the 15th September, nine others being driven down in a damaged condition.

During this period, smoke helmets and gas goggles were invariably carried, and anti-shrapnel helmets always worn. The Native Cavalry soldiers looked strange in this form of head-dress, after seeing them in the familiar turban. All wore them except the Sikhs, whose caste does not allow them to completely cover their heads and their long hair. This is never cut, and is tied in a kind of bun on the top of their heads, and would, of course, make the wearing of the helmet a matter of impossibility in any case.